Page 65 of Never Thought I'd End Up Here
And as I take it, I feel that shift deep inside my chest, like my heart has moved just to make more room for him.Xindong.Gazing up at him, his dark eyes and quiet smile, I’m not sure my heart will ever be still again.
Once all the suitcases have been wheeled out and our key cards deposited at the front desk, Wang Laoshi claps his hands to get our attention.
“I’ve spent most of last night reading your essays and tallying up the scores,” Wang Laoshi begins. “There were a few essays that were … surprisingly moving.” His eyes land on me, and I blink, hardly daring to believe that he’s talking about my essay. I can barely even remember what I wrote—something about a girl getting lost in a bamboo forest, a metaphor and memory combined. I worked on it after the fireworks show, my head light and my chest full, trying not to be distracted by Cyrus playing with my hair, and submitted it just two minutes before the deadline.
“I’m happy to say that we have a winner …” Wang Laoshi continues. “It wasveryclose. Whether you’re first place or not, I’ve witnessed firsthand the progress you’ve made in your Chinese, and while there’s always room for improvement, you should all be rather proud of yourselves.” He pauses, blinks, his usually stern expression softening for just a moment. “Now, on to the results—drumroll, please.”
We all oblige, drumming our fingers on our suitcases, and then Oliver really gets into it and starts mimicking an entire orchestra all by himself, complete with trumpet and bass and what might be a teeny triangle, and Wang Laoshi hurries ahead to announce the results before the hotel staff can kick us out of the lobby.
“The winners are …”
I exchange a look with Cyrus, try to lock my nerves up in a steel trap inside my stomach. I know for a fact that we can’t belast, but that’s all I really know. After everything I’ve already collected from this trip, every new memory and shot of joy I’ve downed, it feels almost greedy to want more. But my hopes of getting into a decent college are riding on this.
“Leah and Cyrus,” Wang Laoshi says, smiling over at us.
My heart soars. The rest of the group bursts into applause that’s definitely too loud for an indoor setting, and I throw my arms around Cyrus’s neck without thinking.
“We won,” I squeal. “Wewon.”
“We did,” he says, laughing, his hand coming up to rest over the small of my back like there’s nobody else around. “I told you we would, didn’t I?”
“You know what we should do to celebrate?” I ask him.
He pulls back just slightly to tilt his head, his eyes gleaming. “Are you asking me out?”
“Maybe,” I tease. “Thereisa nice restaurant I’ve always wanted to try down the street from my house …”
“Let’s go there,” he says instantly.
“Cyrus, you don’t even know what restaurant it is—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he tells me, “as long as I’m going with you.”
It strikes me then it’s all coming to an end—the competition is over, and in only a matter of hours, we’ll be leaving. There’s an ache in my chest, but it’s a happy ache, like the car ride home after a party, when your feet are sore from dancing and your cheeks are stiff from laughing the whole night.
***
The first thing Cyrus does when we settle into our seats on the plane is start wiping everything. The folding tray. The screen. Every inch of the seat belt. It just goes to show how quickly one’s brain can be rewired, because more than anything else, I’m impressed by how thorough he is.If we were to ever move in together, our house would be so neat, the delusional voice in my head sings.
“Can you please wipe down my seat too?” I ask him.
He raises his brows but immediately tears open another pack of alcohol wipes and cleans the armrest between us. “I see you’ve been influenced.”
“I have,” I say shamelessly. “Full credit to you. Maybe you should be an influencer.”
“For sanitizers?”
“See, you’ve already found your niche,” I tell him. “And with that pretty face”—I reach out and tip his chin up on one hand—“you could sell anything.”
His complexion turns a lovely, irresistible shade of pink, his smile shy, and I decide that I’ll never stop thinking of ways to make him blush.
“You know, it’s really lucky that we got seated next to each other twice,” I remark as smiling attendants hurry up and down the aisles, double-checking the overhead bins to make sure that no suitcases are going to tumble out halfway, calling politely for a man to straighten his seat before takeoff. “Like, what are the chances?”
Cyrus hesitates. “I … have a confession to make,” he says.
“Oh?”
“Two confessions, actually,” he amends. Clears his throat. “Though I suppose you could consider them to be connected.”
